


A Taste For It

by Aris_Silverfin, FatlocknDomJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Fatlock, Gen, Kink Discovery, M/M, Weight Gain, basically kinky as heck, belly stuffing, fat kink, feederism, rp fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlocknDomJohn/pseuds/FatlocknDomJohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have come across more than a few odd pieces of crime scene evidence. However, on their hunt for their most recent criminal, Lestrade has come across one that might just take the cake. It's a video of a couple engaging in a bit of feederism play. Both John and Sherlock find themselves positively glued to the screen. But they could never let each other know they have a taste for that sort of thing, could they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Taste

Sherlock was excited to get Gavin's call about an update in their most recent case. A series of serial robberies - seemingly random break-ins that had left London's upper-class collector's fearful for the disappearance of their antique Russian dolls or their limited edition glass eggplants. The crimes were silly, if the detective was being blunt, but the items were quite valuable to their collectors, and a lot of money could be made off them under the correct circumstances.

The most interesting things, however, was the fact that these items weren’t turning up on the black market. None of Sherlock's contacts had noted any odd sales, so it would appear this man was merely stealing for sport. So to have any new news was fantastic. But this was... Unexpected seemed the correct word.

A video - specifically a distinctly kinky video, had caught shadows of their suspect through the windows of the couples' flat. The camera over the man bound to a dining room chair revealed a tall figure in the flat across loading items into a bag, and the gentlemen had been kind enough to give said footage to the police.

But the curly-haired detective was having difficulty...focusing.

The footage began with someone holding a photograph of a tanned, blonde, remarkably fit man in a tiny bathing suit bound to a chair, smiling, eyes hungry. Then a voice faded in, the photo being pulled away to reveal the same, now clearly former, model. Skin paled, blonde locks slightly shaggier, a small dusting of hair around what was now a prominent gut, which spilled into the once-fit man's lap, oozing across his chunky thighs, bathing suit straining over his wide, voluptuous hips

"Come on already, baby, feed me," he begged, his mouth watering.

"Soon, my precious piggy," the other man said, now coming into frame, a similarly sized gut on his mostly-nude, fat frame. He moved soft hands down to squeeze and jiggle the bound man's round, soft belly.

"What happened to those abs?" he asked, voice loving, aroused.

"What happened to yours?" the piggy responded, leaning in to bite the roll of fat flubbing over the other man's side, sucking a deep mark onto the love handle. The other man moaned.

"Oh, you'll pay for that comment, hog," he purred, taking out a chocolate cake and roughly stuffing handful after handful into the fattened-model’s plump mouth, the piggy groaning and squealing as he swelled rounder and rounder.

Sherlock watched the video to completion, mouth dry, legs firmly crossed, having taking in none of the background as his brain exploded with arousal, imagining such a fit man giving in to gluttony, swelling larger and larger until his abs turned to fat and then until his chair simply snapped.

Lestrade was also blushing, and the detective cleared his throat, not looking at John.

"P-Play it again. We need as many details as we can get," he said, voice barely quavering.

 

"A-again?" echoed John, his voice sounding hoarse, "Wasn't once enough? Is there even anything there to... I dunno."

John trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. He was getting hard. Why the hell was he getting hard? It was disgusting wasn't it? Sad? Seeing how the man had let himself go? How the other kept feeding him. It couldn't be healthy... 

Well, it wasn't that much. 

Still, why the fuck was he getting hard?! 

He cleared his throat and crossed one leg over the other, his foot jiggling, his arms folded over his firm, hard, chest and abs, features he had worked to maintain after the army. 

Strict diet. Hard work outs... no cakes. He swallowed, recalling the decadent foods that had been carted forward in the video. He chewed his lip.

"Maybe take the volume off? We might notice... er, more," said John.

 

Sherlock swallowed hard, "A-An excellent idea, John! But we need to check for any sort of radiant noise, the windows in both flats' are open, so if anything was dropped, or if the burglar was humming to himself, we need to hear it. Play it again, Lestrade!" he said, shifting his coat over his legs and watching the man before him swell and groan

"N-Now without sound," he said, not looking back to either man, simply watching those guts jiggle and shake soundlessly, hearing some breathing in the room go ragged, most likely his own.

 

John grunted, trying miserably to get a hold of himself. He pointedly tried ignoring the video, trying to hear anything but the words "Feed", "piggy", and "hog".

But they seemed to linger. 

He found himself breathing rather hard. 

"I don't see anything," he snapped finally, sounding angrier than he had intended. Truly, he had been more than a little distracted. But if he had to watch that one more time he might just burst. It was almost worse with the sound off. He kept hearing Sherlock's voice repeating the words. What the hell was that about?!

He stood and turned, quickly leaving the room.

"Sorry, just gonna pop to the gents."

He did his best to walk normally, then dove into the men's room and found a stall, shoving his hand down his pants without further ado. Left over adrenaline. That's what it was.

 

Sherlock stood, trying to make his coat puffier, demanding Lestrade to leave the windowless room and to have no one disturb him.

The detective then immediately forced his trousers down, gripping himself and imagining John tying him to that chair, imaging him tying John, letting images of food and fat flood his over-aroused mind and finishing with a desperate cry

He hurriedly re-did his pants, grabbing a copy of the tape and wandering toward the restroom in search of his flatmate.

 

John had his other hand in his mouth, biting down on the side to keep quiet. He saw himself in the feeder's place, belly jiggling, jutting out proudly... Then tying sherlock down, stuffing him to the gills, the detective moaning, whimpering-

"Sh-hah-fuck!" he came harder than he had in his life, his vision swimming for a moment as he slumped against the stall. He panted and set about cleaning himself up, shuddering and shaking still.

He took a few deep breaths, then put himself away and went to wash his hands. He heard the door open. Fuck, he hoped he didn't look too flushed. His lips had pinked and his eyes were darker, but he looked his usual.

"Hey, ready to go?" he asked.

 

"Completely, also took a copy of the footage, in the event one of us thinks they can find anything else," Sherlock said, too busy trying to hide his own arousal than to notice his doctor's.

He held open the door, "Shall we?" He asked, voice slightly rough.

 

"Oh, yeah. Good idea," said John, nodding and drying off his hands. Alright. Maybe he would need to see it again. Figure something out-figure the case out. Yeah.

"Off home then," he said, following Sherlock out of the Yard. He hailed a cab, still not looking at his flatmate, his mind still spinning. Somehow he still felt flustered and hot.

 

“I might order some Thai, want any?" the normally not-hungry detective said, shucking off his coat and hanging it up as he walked into 221b. He took out the tape and tossed it onto the sofa.

"You should watch this again, on your own time, then we'll have both seen it four times, compare mental notes," he said, trying to get the tape away from him. He shouldn’t have taken the blasted thing. He was Sherlock Holmes! No sex, no masturbation, no food - no nothing!

He just needed to regain control...and maybe a few biscuits...or a dozen pounds of fried rice. Sherlock shook his head, blushing lightly and hurrying to the kitchen.

 

"Er, yeah. Okay. Starving," said John, "Just, just the usual." 

Even if he was curious to try to fill himself with as much Pad Thai as he possibly could, just to see how round his gut could get if he just let himself go. And go.

"And four times?" John repeated, eyeing the tape mistrustfully. He bit his lip. The whole thing... "Okay. We can make notes and investigate. Stuff." He wandered to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

 

"Yes I...yes." Sherlock said, reaching to a high cabinet and stuffing a packet of biscuits into his pocket discreetly, putting the kettle on and wandering back over to the hall, leaning against the wall and looking to John.

"Perhaps I'll order my portion separate. We might be hungry at the same time and...and maybe we'll get a bit more work done if we do it on our own," he offered, mind doing backflips.

What was he planning? No he...Yes. He had to try it. Just...stuff himself silly and get it out of his system. A bit of Thai, a bulging gut, a quick wank and then he was back to normal, that made sense.

He took out his phone, wandering to his room and ordering an almost ungodly amount of food once the door was closed.

 

"Okay- Sherlock!" John protested. God, now he didn't know if he was actually getting food. 

He texted Sherlock to be sure, then sat sipping at his tea and forcing himself not to think about the video. He stood and opened a few cupboards, then began gathering some... snacks, for later. Brainfood. 

He brought it up to his room and hid everything under his duvet, crisps, little wrapped cakes, biscuits, soda....

Wait... it was a tape. He would need to use the television. Shit! 

He brought his haul back down with him and started squirreling it away around the sofa, the tape sitting innocently on the cushion before him, waiting. 

 

The doorbell rang and Sherlock raced out of his room, ignoring his flatmate on the sofa. He hurriedly paid and scurried back to his room with his three bags, shutting the door and arranging his feast on the bed, eyes going dark as he looked over the bounty before him.

 

John jumped as Sherlock ran past. Then he disappeared with a few bags of takeaway which he hardly paid any mind to. He was too busy trying to hide the crisps. 

Well, if Sherlock was busy... 

He set the video playing and sat back, tugging a blanket over him. He watched, fascinated, stuffing more food into his mouth. His stomach filled gradually, swelling up against his trousers.

"Too big for your jeans, piggy? Oh dear..."

John shuddered and reached for a packet of biscuits, munching them down without thinking. 

He felt his stomach growing rounder and rounder, now pushing against his jumper, his abs stretching around the mass in his middle.

He grunted and reached under the blanket to undo them, gasping as he felt his belly round a little further. He felt... good. Heavy, well fed. Content. He rubbed at his belly, imagining it as big as those on the video. He groaned and shoved down more, eating until he felt a bit sick from all the sugar and salt and grease. 

He collapsed back against the sofa, still rubbing and smoothing his fingers over his belly. 

Tight, everything was so tight and... Jesus it felt good. 

He let his eyes slip shut and his imagination take over as he replayed the video, his finger trailing down to play with his puffed up navel, spreading over the bulge...

 

Sherlock hiccupped around another bite of Pad Thai, having finished more than twice his usual order, still not satisfied, not big enough.

He'd stripped off his shirt, hunting about in his closet for the tiniest pair of shorts he could find. He put them on and laid back, reveling as each bite brought his bulging gut closer and closer to bursting the button - a massive sphere swelling out of his otherwise skeletal frame.

He imagined those fingers feeding him as John's, imagined his body spilling further and further across the bed as his gut arched up into the air.

He felt so good, so full, so...

Fat.

At the last container of Thai he paused, rubbing his hands over his stuffed middle. This should've gone to John, the man needed to eat more anyway, and he was unclear about hoarding all the food for himself. He waddled about his room for a moment, finding a lace corset from a case a while back.

He slipped it on, letting out aroused moans and loud belches as he cinched himself into it, full tummy squashed almost painfully in as he did up his always tight shirts, slipped some trousers on over his shirts, and moved out of his bedroom, calling out to John as he descended the stairs to the living room.

 

John jolted up as he heard Sherlock call out to him. He hurriedly made sure he was covered by the blanket and stuffed all the empty wrappings and bags between the cushions. He muffled a burp as he looked up. 

"Yeah?" he asked, relieved that he didn't sound too breathless, even caught mid-wank with a stuffed gut.

 

Sherlock smiled at the man as he entered the room, seeing John all cuddled up instead of exerting himself on another terrible run.

"I forgot to bring you your food," he said, imagining John hungrily munching it down, those abs giving way to a massive, furry gut. He coughed lightly, letting out a small hiccup as his bloated belly shifted angrily under its lacey confines.

"You must be starving, having not eaten since breakfast," he offered, trying not to sound to aroused by his flatmate...eating. He cleared his throat, trying not to whimper, setting the dish down in front of his friend.

 

"Oh God yeah," John lied. He chuckled. "I thought you were just going to hog it all, thanks."

He gave his flatmate a grin, willing himself not to think about what all that food might do to the skeletal man's middle. Probably make it bulge out, round and plump and- No!

"Thanks," he said again, taking the food and popping the lid off. 

He tucked in to keep up appearances of not having just eaten more than his fair share of crisps and biscuits and other snacks. His belly gurgled in protest, swelling out further between his opened trousers, still hidden beneath his blanket. 

"Er, anything else? You should have a sleep," said John quickly, between mouthfuls, slurping at the noodles just a bit. "I don't even remember the last time you got a good kip in." He chuckled and muffled a belch, still eating and eating, bite after bite. It was terrific... but Jesus- he felt like he could pop.

 

Sherlock’s heart rate skyrocketed as he watched John slurp down his meal. Jesus, he'd pay any amount of money in the world to watch that site go one for hours. He barely stifled a moan as John spoke through a full mouth, imagining the man letting out small squeals as he stuffed in more and mo-

"I-I should!" Sherlock said, a bit too loud, "I might grab a biscuit before I do, celebrate making a bit of headway in the case, I'll grab you one?" he said, wandering to the kitchen, pouring two cups of tea and snagging a few biscuits.

 

"Uh, sure, why not," said John, checking his blanket yet again and still stuffing down his meal. Half gone - Christ- normally he'd be eating it all but-

He burped and blushed deep red. 

"Er, sorry... empty stomach, lots of food... " he mumbled something about the science of digestion and resumed eating, though going more slowly as his stomach ached and gurgled. He was starting to worry that it might push out even against the blanket now. He adjusted his position with a huff and a groan, his stomach contents shifting heavily. Fuck, he felt fat.

 

"It's not a problem," Sherlock said, much too quickly, imagined the man burping for him like the gorgeous little hog he-

Sherlock hurriedly stuffed a biscuit in his mouth, then another, then another, over-sugaring both their teas as he desperately tried to calm down, hiccups only increasing as his now incredibly overfilled middle clashed with his corset.

He moved back into the living room, stifling a belch of his own as he set a package of biscuits before his flatmate, then his highly caloric tea.

"I um, think I’ll have that kip now, enjoy the sweets," he breathed, swallowing and moving up the stairs, letting out a massive belch of his own as he reached the top.

 

John swallowed, but managed a quick, "Thanks," before the man dashed off. He still looked lean as ever, but John imagined those burps louder, a pale belly growing rounder and fatter with each one and still wanting more. 

John muffled a whimper and continued to eat, his fingers trembling as they wandered his gut. 

Oh shit... this was good. Hot. Perfect. 

What had he just stumbled into?


	2. Further Tastes and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock share breakfast, memories and a few fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for horrible abuse of tea in this chapter.

John Watson, as it turned out, was a truly kinky bastard.

He had discovered his kink, and now it was almost constantly wriggling at the back of his mind. He ate heavily at every meal that he could risk it, reveling when Sherlock was at Bart's or giving testimony, and just going whole hog, glutting, gorging, stuffing himself until he could do no more than collapse against the sofa, hiccuping. His runs became cab rides to the nearest bakery or sandwich shop where he would chow down on big beefy sandwiches or rich doughnuts, humming contentedly as his belly swelled out against his workout clothes. 

It wasn't long before John's new change in regime took effect, and soon even his baggy jumpers weren't quite concealing his gluttony. He took to wearing shapewear underneath his clothing, compressing and tightening the new jiggling fat into pseudo-muscle. It only created more problems though. John felt almost constantly squashed, restrained, and too fat for his clothes. He took to wearing looser fitting jeans to hide his imminent arousal. 

Nearly every meal he ate lead to a quick trip to the loo for a wank, imagining how his belly would bulge out, round and fat, if he undid his underclothes. 

But he had to hide this from Sherlock. The man teased his brother mercilessly, if he discovered that John actually liked eating and fattening himself up... he'd lose any chance he had. 

That didn't stop him from imagining Sherlock joining him however, eating until those stupidly tight shirts sprang off him and that lanky figure and skeletal face were plumped and rounded. Until he looked more like a blimp than a detective.

John sat down with his tea in his chair, ruffling a newspaper. It was a quiet Sunday. No cases. No surgery shifts. Just tea. 

And toast. 

He had made rather a lot. 

"Want some?" he offered his flat mate, "I made extra."

 

Sherlock Holmes was truly a gluttonous, fatty hog.

And he loved it

His times at Bart’s were always spent in back rooms, Molly once coming in, concerned with Sherlock's distressed cries and his apparent lack of interest in corpses, only to find a fat-gutted, soft-chested, massive-arsed detective surrounded by empty Chinese take-out boxes furiously wanking with one hand as the other near assaulted his navel, moaning and squirming and belching. The young woman found her thoughts drifting to the sight the rest of her shift, never telling the voluptuous detective of her knowledge, but giving him a dozen cookies the next day with a cheeky wink.

Sherlock ate more and more, as much as he could, now honestly enjoying his feasts in public, the way his corset caused him to belch and hiccup, feeling even fatter as his gut was squashed so tightly in, round bottom looking only a tad fuller thanks to a tight pair of compression shorts - the fact that the pants were made for athletes only pushing him to further ecstasy as he imagined John swelling up beside him, the former solider bursting from his uniform, squealing and grunting as Sherlock handfed his favorite hog, opening his own mouth until they were the fattest pigs in all of London. Two magnificent, squealing hogs, barely able to reach one another around their mountainous guts, mouths hungrily finding rolls, sucking and teething sensitive nibbles, chubby fingers slipping into navels, exploring between cheeks...

Sherlock huffed as he struggled into his corset, slipping on a tight tee, then his robe, and waddling downstairs, compressions shorts the only thing keeping his thighs from rubbing together

He smiled at his John, always happy to see the man eat

"Toast would be lovely, fancy another cuppa? I’ll make on for you," he said, almost lovingly. Constantly wanking to the thought of the man only increased his affection.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks," said John, taking the opportunity to cram down more of the butter slathered bread before his flat mate returned. He gulped down his tea, humming softly and rubbing at his belly, feeling the roundness that was pushing out against the tight spandex beneath his jumper. He found his navel and prodded it, then quickly stopped before he was tempted to travel further south. He ruffled his newspaper again and awaited his tea.

 

Sherlock returned with two over-jellied slices of toast and hyper-sugared teas with whole milk, sliding the tea over to John and munching lightly on his toast, tummy gurgling under his corset.

"No shifts today?" he asked, feeling companionable. The angry, rude Sherlock seemed to have vanished under so many layers of soft cream, with the detective admitting to not only having friends, but needing them

 

"Mm, yeah, day off," John replied, smiling and settling in comfortably. "Just a lazy day at home. I suppose I might go for a run in a bit, though." He had another piece of toast.

 

"Oh," Sherlock said, trying not to sound upset about his flat mate exercising. "I'm sure you can skip one day, perhaps we both need a day to relax, we haven't seen too much of each other lately, what with cases and your promotion." He offered, anything to keep his John sedentary and eating. He munched down his slice, sipping at his tea and taking another

 

John smiled to himself.

"Yeah, maybe."

God... if the detective knew that he hadn't taken an actual run in over a month. If he knew that John had instead spent that time eating and stuffing himself full at a shop of his choice... He crunched into more toast, humming softly. He snuck a glance at Sherlock. He was pleased to see the man eating as well. He like watching actually, that elegant neck bobbing, the jawline moving softly... It made him look less severe, more approachable. 

He sipped at his tea. It was delicious, but didn't taste much like tea. He smacked his lips lightly and offered his friend more toast. "Here, care for another?"

 

Sherlock smiled at the offer.

"Here, why don't we make one for each other, see if you can guess the other's taste, something to keep our brain active on a lazy day," he said, reaching for a piece and buttering it, sprinkling it with just a bit of jam, knowing John preferred things slightly more savory, then sliding the piece over. This was almost like feeding that gorgeous man...almost

He sipped at his tea, "Another cuppa?" He smiled, wondering how much it would take before his flat mate was sloshing

 

John looked surprised.

"Alright. You having one too," he asked, though it didn't sound like a question, more like a request bordering on an order. He picked up a slice of toast and spread a generous amount of butter over it and then coated it heavily with jam. John held it out as Sherlock returned.

"Here, yours." John said with a grin.

 

Sherlock leaned over, taking a bite out the piece and letting out a pleased hum, snatching the rest from the man's hands as he set down another fattening, sugary, heavy tea, sipping at the one he brought himself. He looked over the spread of jams and slathered one with more butter than John had, then a thick coating of apple jam, Mrs. Hudson's canning phase leaving them with almost a dozen types

He slid the piece to John, almost purring as he munched the slice down.

"You know my sweet tooth," Sherlock murmured, sipping again at his tea.

 

"Hard to miss," John chuckled, picking up the offered toast and eating it slowly, humming at the flavor, the melted butter and sugary jam. "It used to be the only way I could get you to eat something during long cases."

He chuckled and slathered another slice up with loads of butter and strawberry jam, then passed it to Sherlock. He drank a bit of his tea and then polished off his own slice. His stomach gurgled happily, even as it was restrained and forced to be flat by his clothing. "Mm, that's very good actually."

 

"I know what you like, more subtle sweetness. I always knew you bought something just to tempt me when it was an oversugared nightmare," Sherlock chuckled, smothering a piece with butter once he finished the strawberry slice, complimenting John on his choice for him.

He stroked at his chin, sipping his tea and then choosing a citrusy orange marmalade, merging with the butter, cutting its sweetness to a soft edge.

"For our case at that orchard in Spain, you kept stuffing those oranges into your pockets as we dashed about the place. I would’ve bought a basket if you'd just said something," he laughed, finishing his tea, tummy groaning softly under his corset.

 

“Yeah," said John, oddly touched at that vivid memory being used for him. "They were wonderful though. I might have finished the whole thing before we even got it home," he joked. 

He reached for the new slice of toast automatically, hardly giving thought to how much he was eating. Everything was feeling tight though, full, and warm, stuffed to contentment. He bit into the toast and licked up a bit of marmalade that got on his thumb. "Mmm... almost something like that." He grinned as he slathered Sherlock's next slice thickly with honey rather than jam and passed it over. "Here. An old favorite."

 

Sherlock gave a soft smile, taking up the slice reverently before biting into it.

"The amount of times you've let me prattle on about bees and honey. The month you let me think we were actually going to keep them in the flat?" He laughed, standing and muffling a small belch, moving to get two more teas, returning and finishing his slice, lost in the memories of his best friend....so many of which seemed to revolved around food.

"Last slice...split it?" He asked with a hiccup.

 

John drained his third cup, muffling a burp, the spandex straining, digging into him...  
He smiled and accepted his new cup, eyeing Sherlock. He looked healthier lately, there was a glow to his skin, a sheen to his hair, a softness in his eyes. 

"Sure. What do we both like?" he said, slathering the bread first with butter. He chose black currant. It was sweet and thick and sticky, but not cloyingly so. He cut it in half and passed one piece to Sherlock.

Then he bit into his own.

 

"Fitting" Sherlock said, sounding all too pleased as he bit in with a moan, 'You really know me more than anyone, John Watson" 

He finished the slice and sipped at his tea, tummy beginning to slosh lightly under his corset, feeling the tight thing strain against. He sipped again, then set down the mug.

"Why...why don’t we just watch crap telly all day?" he offered, brain swirling as it imagined a much lazier, no-more-running John filling up their sofa. One day of memories and sitting about wouldn’t make his perfect John a perfect hog, but Sherlock could pretend it would, and they really hadn’t seen much of each other lately.

 

"Hm, yeah alright," agreed John, yawning and muffling a burp as he stretched, he let his hands settle on his belly without realizing it, rubbing softly. He felt wonderfully full, even more so because of his new soft belly being pressed flat by tight clothing. He might have to go up a size soon. God... 

He stood and fetched a blanket, then plopped down on the sofa and slouched back, throwing half of it towards Sherlock. He grunted, stomach sloshing, as he reached for the remote, then started flipping through channels.

He thought about a lazy Sherlock, spending his days stretched out on the sofa, maybe eating some ice cream or some treats, calling for John to bring him more... finding him fatter every day he came home from work, that round belly softening and poking out between the man's pajamas. 

John's lips parted. He licked them and shifted slightly... Sherlock snoring there, a big round belly rising and falling, waking only to be fed more, lazily opening his mouth and gulping down whatever he was fed, belly spilling out, hands rubbing it sleepily.

John felt himself getting hard. 

He quickly forced himself to focus on the program. "This-this alright?" he asked, his voice oddly gruff.

 

Sherlock’s heart almost rocketed out of his chest as John's hand rubbed at his flat middle, hiding beneath the blanket as blood surged southward, imaging his fit John waddling home from work, huffing and puffing as his coat strained around his fatty form, kissing Sherlock deeply and sinking into the couch, his wide arse spreading out across its entirety as he begged Sherlock to fetch him dinner.

"P-perfect" Sherlock said, not even noting what it was.

 

John made a small noise of agreement. He shifted under the blanket, wishing he could undo his shapewear and his trousers and just let it all hang out, pat and play with his chubby gut, feel it in his palms.

He swallowed and wriggled down a bit further, watching the program. His mind was clearly elsewhere however.

"Did you ever get anything out of that tape?" he asked, the thought striking him for the first time since... well. Wow. The kink discovery had completely driven that from his mind. "I didn't see anything unusual."

 

"From the serial robberies? Not really. I watched the thing half a dozen times." Then two dozen more after that.

"But nothing. Why? Have any notes to compare?" Sherlock smiled, looking to his brilliant John with warm eyes, wishing he could take off that damned corset and start fingering his navel before his exploded from arousal right there.

 

"Yeah me too, but I didn't... notice anything odd. Shame though," said John, his eyes lingering on Sherlock maybe a bit longer than usual. He quickly looked back at the telly. 

He had watched it until he had it memorized. Until he closed his eyes and saw it playing on his eyelids, until he could envision Sherlock and himself in their places. He wondered how close to a big gut like that he was. He wet his lips. 

"Maybe I should go run. I did eat a bit more for breakfast than usual."

 

"Oh well...if you want to," Sherlock said, trying not to sound too disappointed, "Maybe I could order a pizza or something for when you come back? Watch one of those spy films?"

God he sounded pathetic, but he...he missed his friend. Regardless of the man's size he simply wanted to be close to him.

 

John chuckled. "Pizza? Well, might as well not bother then," he joked, secretly thrilled. "And sure, I'd love to."

He smiled at his flat mate and best friend... and perhaps something more that he couldn't say just yet.

 

Sherlock laughed, gazing back at John as the man smiled.

"Well you...if you’re going to run you might as well. I’ll have a pizza with your name on it and whatever those Q films are you like by the time you get back," he said, giving the man's hand a pat, desperately wishing he could just lean forward and kiss him.

"I'll...well I’ll see if I can’t get all that jam cleaned up while you’re running," Sherlock said, standing with a grunt, letting out a small burp at the corset pressed his stomach.

 

John stretched and got up lazily, watching Sherlock's arse as the man walked away. He shook his head when he caught himself and went to change. 

"Alright, thanks, lo- that would be nice. Thanks," he said, hurrying up the stairs. He kept his shapewear on, but switched to track shorts and a t-shirt and trainers. Then he went out. 

He walked to the doughnut shop around the corner, where the owner hailed him by name. He was immediately served three large custard filled doughnuts which he ate happily with a cream tea. He sat, hiding one arm, one hand softly stroking his belly. He thought about bringing a box home to Sherlock but well... that might give him away. Best to be careful.


	3. Taste for Gluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys share a couple of large pizzas and continue to attempt to hide their new gains from each other.

Sherlock watched John through their kitchen window as he left for his run, this morning only affirming how utterly besotted he was with the gorgeous doctor, cleaning up the kitchen and removing his carton of chocolate ice cream from the freezer, downing massive spoonfuls of the creamy, fatty treat as he did the dishes, then called the pizzeria, agreeing to their two for one special. He wondered if John could eat an entire pizza, flushed, and finished the carton much faster than he originally thought he would.

 

John returned home, belly feeling full and stretched and so very plump. He rubbed it idly, wishing he could just set it free, let it spill out proudly, wobbling, in front of him as he walked. He hiccuped and then broke into a slow run to ensure he was out of breath before climbing the stairs up to the flat again. He groaned and huffed, his belly straining against the unforgiving material.

"H-hey," John panted, looking in for Sherlock.

 

"Hello,” Sherlock smiled, "Just in time. They're still hot!" He added, opening one of the extra-large boxes and letting the steaming pies waft through the flat, finding himself crossing to John for a hug, but pulling back at the last moment. Instead he turned to a cabinet and grabbed a set of glasses.

"DVD is in the player, and plates are out, milk to drink?" he asked, imagining a fatty John, huffing and puffing after just a few moments of jogging.

 

"Oh-hurp- yeah," agreed John, "I was going to shower first... but if they're still hot..."

He eyed the boxes wistfully. True, it was harder to hide in this clothing, but hot fresh pizza was hard to beat.

 

"Oh it’ll be cold if you shower!" Sherlock hurried, pushing the glass of whole milk into John's hands. "Just change and meet me down here, I’ll just bring the boxes into the living room," he offered, picking up a slice and munching on it before taking the boxes in his hands.

 

"Alright," agreed John, smiling at how agreeable Sherlock seemed. It was good to see him eat too. He changed and came down in a cuddly jumper and sweatpants. He was still in the shaper, but this way... well it suited a lazy Sunday. And he could stretch it further without being discovered.

He sat down next to Sherlock and helped himself to pizza, looking over at Sherlock warmly as the man ate.

 

Sherlock pressed play, silently challenging himself to eat as much pizza as he could, and perhaps getting as much into John too.He leaned slightly into the incredibly warm man. 

"That hit and run case last year, you pulled me out of the street. I was too lost in thought to notice anything, but you always remember me," Sherlock murmured as the spy seduced another femme fatal, Sherlock sneaking his third slice.

"I...never thanked you," he added, sipping at his creamy, fatty milk.

 

John was watching and chewing methodically, determined to eat and put Sherlock at ease with eating.

He swallowed and murmured, "There's no need to thank me... We're friends. We look out for each other."

 

"Still...you always look out for me," Sherlock said, finishing his slice, "It's....I don't thank you enough." His tummy gurgled as it rebelled against his fifth slice, one pizza almost gone between the two swelling men.

 

"Well, like I said," said John, smiling and glancing over. " We’re mates. I care about you, you stupid git." He chuckled to take the edge off the words. It was rather a lot like an "I love you".

He took another piece of pizza and bit into it quickly, his words becoming muffled, "You've saved me too though."

 

Sherlock chuckled softly as the joke, leaning his head onto the man's shoulder. It felt so...packed. The man must’ve been working out twice as hard lately. His brows knit together at that, reaching for another slice and chewing.

"You had a...a light to you, John. How was I supposed to resist bringing that into my life?" He tried to chuckle but it came out too hoarse, and he sipped at his milk, moving to straighten up, not wanting to make his straight flatmate uncomfortable.

"Hm," said John, chuckling even as he immediately missed the weight of Sherlock on his shoulder. Maybe it was for the best. Easier to hide his weight like this. "Some might call that madness, but no, you've got it too. Something about us is just... right. I guess."

He took a long drink of milk and burped lightly, then dove in for more pizza. As long as they were both eating. No need to hide it, right?

 

Sherlock laughed at John's belch, picking up another slice and unleashing one of his own, standing and moving to the kitchen, returning with the pitcher of milk and pouring them each another glass, snuggling back into John lightly, enjoying the warmth and comfort the man's presence provided, even if he was so trim

 

John smiled and ventured to let out another belch. 

"Mm, it’s all really good. What's one day of gluttony then?" he joked, secretly cheering that he was getting to eat an entire pizza along with Sherlock. Oh God, and now he was leaning into him. He almost wrapped his arm around him. John swallowed.

 

Sherlock shivered as John said 'gluttony', the very sound of it on the doctor lips was something he would finish to for days after, but for now, Sherlock was obsessed with downing a pizza with his lov-with John

"So true! We won't get fat off one day,” Sherlock purred, bringing up a slice, then offering it before John's lips, "For some reason I assumed you'd enjoy meat-lovers, prove me right?" He teased.

 

"Oh, wow, bacon, sausage and pepperoni?" chuckled John, "Scratch that, maybe I will get fat off today." He smiled, hoping that Sherlock didn't notice the note of longing, or the thrill that shot through him at that greasy pizza being offered to him. He leaned forward and took a big bite. It was amazing. 

"Mmm, yeah, really good."

 

Sherlock almost exploded at John's comment, slowing feeding him the slice, almost whimpering at the very mention of those words.

"I'd hoped you'd like it, and I don't think that's anything to worry about," Sherlock nearly purred, laying a hand on John's flat middle, rubbing it lightly, movie forgotten.

 

John smiled as he ate his way through the slice. He huffed softly as Sherlock's hand found his middle.

"Er," he said quickly, burping as he seized a slice of Sherlock's pizza, "Thanks." He offered Sherlock more, willing himself not to blush, not to moan, not to shift away too sharply from Sherlock's touch. What if he was found out?

 

Sherlock smiled, letting this innocent portion of his fantasy play out, a slow feeding between him and the man he...loved. John couldn’t possibly know just how wild this situation would drive him. Sherlock leaned forward, munching on the slice, chewing and swallowing as he finished the slice, sipping at his milk and settling a bit more into the doctor's side, offering another slice to his John, then another, worried removing his hand would end this perfect scenario, rubbing softly and slowly, offering one of the last slices.

 

John bit back a soft whine. Sherlock's hand was still... Christ. Fuck.

He was getting hard. Fast. And so full. So very full. He shifted carefully, but accepted the pizza as it was offered to him, eating it and pretending to watch the movie. He could feel his shapewear growing tighter with every bite.

Jesus! Everything was so tight, impossibly tight. John felt so full and fat and heavy. A whole pizza. He groaned softly and leaned back, his mind sluggish with overeating. 

"Fuck... shouldn't have done that," he said, giving Sherlock a nervous half smile. He swallowed. What did... what did Sherlock think of him now? His soldier gone soft and gluttonous- he stopped. That line of thought was not helping his erection.

 

Sherlock only purred at John's comment, a bit confused as to how John's belly stayed so flat even after an entire XL pizza, his own reason obvious, blood rushing southward as he felt John's tummy - even flat it as beautiful, so long as it as John's he wanted to kiss it and nibble it and-

He cleared his throat, finally removing his hand so he could return it to the blanket, pressing down his rapidly hardening cock and crossing his legs, letting out a deep, wet belch as he shifted.

"It was...I'm impressed," Sherlock stammered, "And it’s just one day, John.Plus, I managed to finish mine too.” 

 

"Oh, did you?" asked John, most definitely hard now. He huffed and belched, tugging the blanket into his lap further. "Good. I feel better now," he joked, even as he was certain his eyes went dark with lust. He couldn't see the man's middle sadly, but he imagined it would be round, bulging and full, adorably so.

John feigned a yawn and stretched, then went back to the movie, his breathing hard and heavy. But he needed to calm down. No need to... complicate things.

 

Sherlock leaned lightly back into John's side, both their hands under the covers, silently palming his erection, hoping to will it away and only making things worse.

John Watson was a glutton, a perfect one at that, and Sherlock let his eyes close as he desperately imagined his fit soldier growing larger and larger.


	4. Shared Tastes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reveal.

John purchased larger sizes the very next day, his lazy Sunday proving to be quite the feast, and Sherlock seemed to have enjoyed himself too. It was... good to see. Really good. And hot as hell. He didn't think he was ever going to be able to eat a meal in the same room with his flatmate again. Damn this newfound kink. But, Jesus, it was perfect! Sherlock was perfect. 

Belly cinched in and concealed under a loose jumper, John walked downstairs. "I'm headed to the surgery for a bit to pick up some paperwork. I'll be back in a few hours," he told Sherlock. "Need anything?"

Truthfully, he was going to a burger place to inhale as many chips and greasy burgers and onion rings as he could eat without splitting his spandex. 

His appetite had groan voraciously over the past few weeks, able to eat more and more. His arms had gone soft and jiggling, his pectorals more like soft mounds of fat than rippling muscle. And he had a true and proper gut. Luckily, his face had only softened a little so it was able to be hidden under looser clothing. Sherlock didn’t seem to have noticed. Or at least he hadn’t said anything.

 

"Pick up some ice cream on your way home?" Sherlock asked, leaning against the wall in the hall.

The detective had grown even fatter since that fateful night, finding his capacity through the roof after downing a mountain of toast, ice cream, and pizza, wishing he could rub his soldier’s belly like that again, eyes trailing the man's form as he left, looking even more muscled than before, so tightly packed into his jumper.

He waved from the kitchen window as John went by, almost instantly unbuttoning his shirt and shedding his trousers, moving to the fridge and taking out the chocolate cake he'd hidden behind a wall of sauces an jams

The curly-haired man brought it to the living room table, setting it down reverently and beginning to undo his corset.

The first things to pop loose were the now definitely fat detective's perky set of breasts, grown past the softened peaks they were before, which sat below a softened neck and plump shoulders, framed by thick, sausage-like arms that jiggled as he continued letting out straps that allowed a pillowy back to bloom free.

As the corset hit the floor, Sherlock felt himself go rock hard. His massive gut flopped forward, spilling over his compression shorts and into the open air, hanging before him like a quivering mound of dough, an ocean of warm, soft cream.

Sherlock rubbed at his rolled sides, trying to sooth the redness there, one hand exploring his insanely deep navel, moving about to cup the many handfuls of fat he'd developed since that case.

He was as big as the former-model in the video now, and he intended to re-create the scene.

Sherlock slipped off his compression shorts, a pair of yellow panties the only keeping his hard cock from freedom, his absurdly wide ass flubbing out behind him. Two, perfectly full moons of pure, snowy fat. They spread out beneath him as he settled down onto the sofa, reaching forward and taking a handful of cake, shoveling it down, imagining John was egging him on, imagining himself egging John on, simply swelling fuller and fuller as his gut gurgled and groaned.

He licked his fingers clean, rubbing his overfilled middle as he looked at the clock. He had time for a quick nap, surely. He wiped a bit of the chocolate from his face, leaning back into the sofa, his domed middle pouring into his lap, and felt his eyelids grow heavy, drifting off to his sugary coma.

 

John was three burgers and four chip baskets down. He sat back with a burp, giving his belly a good pat. God, it was all so good! But so tight!

He drank down soda, then burped and hiccupped. Ah, Fuck... so fat and tight. His arousal was persistent, but his belly ached in protest. He ordered another round to go and then caught a cab home. He was a touch early, but that should be alright. He bought some ice cream at the small shop on the corner and then hauled his bags from the cab, still burping lightly, breathing heavily and panting as he hauled himself up the stairs to the flat. 

He called out for his flatmate, but the man's name died in his throat. John's eyes went wide.

That... that couldn't be Sherlock. Not his lanky flatmate, not the man who never ate.

John let the groceries and his burger bag fall. He stepped closer to the mound of white fat flesh, taking in the crumb filled plate. And oh- oh God!

"Fuck," he grunted, then realized he had said it quite loudly.

 

Sherlock blinked awake, yawning softly then surveying the flat.

Oh, John was home.

Sherlock's heart dropped.

The detective froze, simply staring at the doctor like a deer caught in the headlights.

He was essentially naked and three times the size he used to be, sitting in front of a platter of chocolate crumbs. A wave of terror swept through him, taking his mind with it, so all he could think to say was

"You're home early."

 

"Yeah," said John, his voice gruff and low. He reached out slowly and prodded the man's middle, his lips parting as the flesh jiggled slightly at his poke. 

His brain was quite possibly short circuiting. This was better- this was- oh God.

"Jesus," he breathed, "You got fat, Sherlock." He prodded him again, still in awe, as if trying to make sure he wasn't just hallucinating.

 

"I...I did," Sherlock responded, shifting lightly at the prodding, arching his gut against John's fingers.

"Is that...alright?" he added, brain desperately attempting to reboot.

 

John looked Sherlock straight in the eye.

"Fuck yeah," he growled, digging his fingers into that soft squashy gut and giving it a jiggle. 

Finally! Finally!

He tore off his jumper and shoved down his trousers, grinning as he revealed the tight black spandex that was holding him in.

"And you're not the only one," he added, smirking. He reached behind himself for the zip and undid it, his torso swelling visibly as the tight fabric was given slack.

Then he pushed the material down, his pectorals soft and swaying under padded shoulders. Then a large round and fat belly blorped into being, jiggling and wobbling as he pushed the tight material down past it, love handles expanding as his gut sagged out and down. John groaned and gave his belly a hard slap, sending it dancing, then slipped a finger in to play with his wide deep navel, tickling the golden hairs that were scattered around it. 

"Ah, that's better," he sighed, leaving it on his thighs for now, making him look like he was overflowing at the hips, his arse spilling out the back, fleshy hips and fleshier belly on full display.

 

Sherlock balked, standing hurriedly and sputtering as John tore his clothes away, revealing-

Oh...OH!

"John, you-But-How-I-" Sherlock cut all these words off with a moan, throwing himself at that gorgeous, perfect, beautiful, piggish John.

Their mountainous guts jiggling madly as they squashed, the flesh letting out a loud slap as they came together, navels meeting as Sherlock's moonlight skin crashed against John's fuzzy gut.

As their bellybuttons kissed, so did Sherlock furiously kiss his John. Nibbling and sucking on the man's bottom lip before hungrily exploring his mouth, the detective's plump hands latching onto the soldier's love handles, reaching down to squeeze and lifting each perfect cheek of that perfect ass.

"You-When?" Sherlock breathed, kissing up John's jaw.

 

John moaned loudly, the sound swallowed as Sherlock kissed him and he kissed him back desperately, pressing into Sherlock, feeling all that full fat weight against him. 

"Ah, Fuck, I might ask you the same question," he panted, chuckling breathlessly, "Ever since... that case... that video I've just been- Fuck , look at you Sherlock!"

He seized meaty handfuls of his flat mate, greedily grabbing at everything he could reach, kissing back wantonly.

 

Sherlock pulled back a moment, "Th-the tape? For you too?" Sherlock almost laughed, but was too busy exploring his new-found Fat John , squashing his gut further into the doctor as he moved his hands to squeeze and play with John newly developed breasts

"Look at you, John. What happened to your abs?" he purred, quoting the video that had started it all.

 

John chuckled and gave the man a bump back, groaning softly as his sensitive nipples were toyed with.

"Hmph, ate them away. Speaking of, what happened to Sherlock Holmes the skeletal detective? Hmm? Looks like you ate him... twice," John teased, chuckling and now slipping his hands over those soft plush hips to grope at that glorious arse, hefting each doughy sphere of fat, humming as the flesh bounced.

 

Sherlock moaned, then felt a pressure building up inside him. He tried to move away, but ended up unleashing a chocolaty belch with force enough to ruffle his doctor's hair.

The detective could only blush, moving in a way that only further bounced and jiggled John's also overfilled middle, mumbling out an apology as he continued to thumb the doctor's sensitive nipples.

 

"You complete hog," John admonished, chuckling and leaning in to nip at Sherlock's jawline, pressing his chest further into Sherlock's hands with a soft huff.

He slid his hands back to Sherlock's belly, hefting it heavily in his hands, and letting it drop.

"Still hungry?" he murmured. "I got you that ice cream you wanted."

 

"Only if you feed it to me, and let me feed whatever greasy thing you brought home right back, piggy," Sherlock purred, leaning down to suck then graze one of John's plump breasts with his teeth, giving his gut a harsh slap before waddling towards his bedroom, pausing to lean against the doorframe, giving his wide hips a small roll

"Interested?"

 

"God yeah," John growled. He fetched a spoon, then scooped up the dropped bags, his arse wriggling in the air, belly flopping against his thighs. Then he hurried after Sherlock, his eyes following every movement of those plush hips. He grabbed a hold of them again, practically purring and kissed the back of Sherlock's shoulders. 

"You're amazing," he murmured, then gave Sherlock a nudge with his belly to get him onto the bed as he dug out the ice cream and the spoon.

 

"You're fat," Sherlock returned, waiting on the bed on all fours, gut hanging lower, brushing the covers as he crawled across them, settling down across from John, gut pouring out before him, wide hips arching up into the air.

He gazed at John, love in his eyes, "I-that day...with the toast. That was the best day of my life, and I...I love you, John. I loved you thin and I love you now. I-I hope that doesn't...ruin the heat of the moment,” he murmured, moving a finger to toy with his navel, causing his gut to ripple and quake.

 

John's eyes widened.

"It doesn't... not at all. Sherlock... God, Sherlock come here," he said, almost launching himself across the bed, belly jiggling with the swiftness of his movement. He kissed the detective hard. 

"I love you too," he said simply, then grinned, "If that was your best day, well, what's burgers and ice cream in bed going to rank as?"

He pulled the carton over and flipped it open. Triple chocolate. He scooped up a big bite and pressed it to Sherlock's mouth.

"Eat up, piggy. Show me how much of a glutton you've been growing into. Show me how you grew that huge fucking fat belly of yours."

 

Sherlock hummed happily, eagerly accepting the creamy treat with a squeal, gulping it down and excitedly opening his mouth for another

 

"Good, piggy," John praised, feeding Sherlock more and more, rubbing at the mans' huge belly, still amazed that it was there. 

He cheekily stole his own bite of ice cream and winked at Sherlock, then pressed a cool kiss to the detective's belly, teasing him with his tongue.

 

Sherlock moaned at the kiss, stealing one of his own from John's lips, reaching around the mountainous soldier.

"And what about you, hog? How exactly did that fit body go to pot?" he purred breathily, taking up the burger and moving it to John's lips, scooting closer.

He giggled as he looked into the bag, "Well, three more burgers plus fries might explain how my soldier turn into such a piggy," Sherlock teased, reaching his free hand down to jiggle John's gut, popping his thumb into the man's navel and exploring, greasy treat still hovering in front of those plump lips.

 

John groaned, pressing his belly into Sherlock's hand, his eyes fluttering as he took a big bite, then another and another as he felt the man teasing him. 

"Hmm... think that's what's done it?" he murmured as he chewed. He swallowed it down and resumed rutting his belly into Sherlock's affections, gasping and whining as the man explored his navel. He took more thick bites of greasy burger. 

"I think it was swapping all my runs for doughnut and sandwich snacks." He smirked and ate the last bite, licking and sucking at Sherlock's fingers, pressing his belly out fuller and fatter still, rubbing it indulgently. "Mmm..."

 

"You-You mean all that time you were just, just stuffing yourself?" Sherlock flat-out moaned, whimpering as his fattened lover sucked his pudgy fingers.

"John Watson, you perfect pig!" he groaned, crushing his mouth onto John's, hand almost desperately exploring the man's navel as he brought up the next burger, gently beginning to palm the man's still-clothed crotch, listening to his own ice-cream filled middle churn as it poured out, round and full, before him.

 

John grinned lazily into the kiss, then began on the second burger, still moaning at Sherlock’s treatment of his navel.

"Mmm... oink, oink," he teased, smirking around his next bite. His breath shuddered as Sherlock palmed his crotch. He began rocking into the man's hand lightly, his belly quivering and shaking. He ate between gasps, hungrily, even as his gut was stuffed full and so very round. Jesus, he was fat.

 

Sherlock giggled at the oinking, hoping one day he'd be able to make his always-in-control Captain squeal, pressing a bit faster, with a bit more purpose as John gobbled up his greasy treats. As the last fry passed through his lover's lips he looked over John's form, purring with contentment as he leaned in to kiss him.

"Just look at us, John" he said, moving closer to the doctor, walking his fingers across the girth of John's waist, his love handles, his over hand grasping a handful of his own creamy gut and shaking it.

 

"F-urp- fuck yeah," John belched, then chuckled, laying back with a moan, his overfull belly arching high above him. He reached for Sherlock's belly as well, groping and squeezing at it. 

"You're... Christ, how did we get so big?" he murmured.

 

"We ate, and ate, and ate, furiously wanking to the thought of getting fatter, of...of each other getting fatter," Sherlock offered as his own story, squeezing whatever of John he could find.

"I've...I've thought about this for a long time...If you aren’t ready we can, can just rub bellies but I-" Sherlock swallowed, "I would like us to make love...at...some point." His face went beet red.

John huffed a small laugh and rolled onto his side, reaching out for Sherlock and pulling him closer. He kissed him gently, sweetly, his hands rubbing and pressing at his soft squashy sides. 

"Mm... so would I, love. But I can hardly move," John murmured, nibbling along Sherlock's jaw. His hand slid down beneath Sherlock's belly, encircling his cock and starting to pump it slowly. "This okay?"

 

“Yeah,” huffed Sherlock, eyes falling closed as he pressed himself into John with soft moans. He tugged at John in return until they were both panting and gasping. Their fattened bodies shook and trembled then fell still as they came on their two bulging bellies which were still pressed together sweetly. They succumbed to sleep soon after, still holding one another, dreaming of future feasts to come. They had certainly developed a taste for this sort of thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock - FatlocknDomJohn  
> John - Aris_Silverfin


End file.
